


Sing to me: i can hear you open up to breathe

by JJLives



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, F/F, Singer/Songwriter AU, some kind of AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:47:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23790283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJLives/pseuds/JJLives
Summary: Others may see an animal or beast. Some might call her a savage or her kind just brutes, but hearing her sing in all her terrified glory... the only word Yang can call her is an Angel.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 27
Kudos: 89





	1. I can stay

**Author's Note:**

> No idea where this idea came from. just started spouting words. I have a few chapter ideas. probably will only be a 2 or 3 part series... dunno
> 
> Song is Shake it Out by Florence + The Machine. I imagined the Glee version for this performance. I know "glee" right? but I highly recommend anyone to check out their rendition. Naya Rivera's voice haunts me to this day with that first verse.
> 
> Enjoy and let me know what you think! Oh rated M for a future chapter idea... just in case.

The crowd’s booing echoes long after the man trudges off stage. They’re not being fair. She thinks he wasn’t horrible. Maybe not on par with the other talent before him, but not horrid. Drinks flow steadily from behind the bar. Verbal jeers rising as inhibitions drop. Fate would have been kinder to showcase him first, before the crowd became bold with alcohol filled bellies. 

“Poor guy.” Ever the empathetic one, Ruby is quick to applaud, though she’s the only one.

“Don’t encourage that.” Their other friend speaks up from her right. “He was horrible. I saw no breath control, and he was so -pitchy.”

“Not everyone can be classically trained like you!” Ruby shoots back. “Who could control breaths while crying. I swear there were tears in his eyes as he ducked behind the curtain.” 

Their bickering continues, muffled now by the shouts for the next performer to take the stage. The set is early. They don’t care that they chased the last one off ten minutes early. 

Servers hurry to replace empty glasses; tributes to placate the ravenous horde, but their hunger is for entertainment not drink. Yang wonders if their demands now turn for more blood. The one constant ringing true throughout history - men are never sated. Always they want more, and more. Having a taste of viciousness, would anything curb that appetite now?

She spares what little empathy she can for the next performer, wishing it into the universe in hopes to protect them, even but a bit, from what’s to come. Ruby worries for the wrong person, his embarrassment although tragic is now over. 

“Here we are now, entertain us.” It rings over and over, so much so Yang can’t tell which are the true roughened lyrics and which are the reverberations from the rafters.

A girl rushes from side-stage, skidding to a halt a few paces in. It’s obvious from her deer-in-the-headlights look that she’s been rushed, pushed up there, like a lamb to slaughter. A simple acoustic guitar hangs from her white-knuckled left fist. She wears simple clothing, no fancy dress or designer jeans, no blazers or grunge band shirts hang off her frame. There’s nothing to indicate this girl’s trying to make an impression. Nothing saying she wants to be seen. The opposite in fact. She wears simple black jeans, blue converse and a long sleeved grey shirt. No gaudy jewelry or bold make-up marr her skin to grab the audience’s attention. Her hair is pulled back in a simple bun at the back of her head. Fingers tremble as they slide across her temple, tucking a wayward strand of ebony behind her left ear. Higher up, two points flatten as she takes the half a dozen strides to collapse on the stool awaiting her at center stage.

The horde goes silent, staring slack-jawed.

She’s a _faunus_.

Yang’s muscles all tighten. Only noticing the way her hands grip the table when a splinter wedges underneath a nail bed. She sucks in a breath, releasing her grip on the wood, claw marks a visible indicator of her instant unease. Faunus don’t showcase here and there’s a good reason for that. She searches the crowd for a manager, a bouncer, a goddamn server would do. Someone has to get her off that stage. A sharp tug at her elbow yanks her back into the booth. She doesn’t even remember standing.

“Where are you going?” Weiss glares at her, jaw clenched. 

“Someone has to do something.” Already murmurs are rising up. Scornful, racist slurs whispering all around her. “They’ll slaughter her.”

“No one can stop this.” Weiss’ voice drops, saddened, resigned.

“A manager.” She stands again, determined to do  _ something. _

“Who do you think shoved her up there, Yang.” Ruby’s voice is opposite of her friend’s. All scorn and hatred. She’s never heard that tone from her sister before. “She’s a barback. I saw her earlier when I went to get our drinks. She works here.”

Yang falls heavily back into her seat and stares in horror at the uneasy flick of the girl’s ears. Ears that now have the attention of every racist blowhard in the joint. Her obvious nerves will prove her downfall, they aren’t something a drunk, malicious pack will ignore. She’s become their prey, at no fault of her own, or even under her own decision. She’s been forced into an impossible situation against her will. 

Yang growls aloud.

Weiss’ cautious stare flicks from her to Ruby. “We should go.” She says at last. And Yang knows her reasons. She doesn’t want to see what’s coming, doesn’t want  _ them _ to see what they all know is about to happen. Ruby releases a breath and Yang can see her nod in her periferal. 

“Yang l-”

“I’m staying.”

“But-”

“You can go if you want.” Yang’s eyes haven’t left the stage. She watches as the girl busies her trembling fingers by tuning the instrument in her hands. The pickguard wears many scars and the body is faded where her forearm comes down to rest. Each chord plucked ends with a nod, meeting her approval. 

“Are all faunus this’low?” A man slurs from somewhere off to Yang’s left. “No wonder they can’na keep any good jobs.” A roar of laughter ripples the air.

“Yang, let’s go.” Ruby pleads.

“I’m not leaving.”

“You can’t do anything.” Weiss reasons.

But they’re wrong. “I can stay.” They hover, concern in their eyes. Yang feels it. “Go, I’ll be alright.”

Doubt hangs in the air but it’s not spoken. Finally Weiss pulls Ruby from the bar by the wrist. They weave between the tables at a brisk pace. Yang watches the door swing closed when they leave. 

Then she starts to sing.

_ “Regrets collect like old friends _

_ Here to relive your darkest moments _

_ I can see no way, I can see no way _

_ And all of the ghouls come out to play” _

She starts without accompaniment of her instrument. Voice: soft and fragile but with a haunting strain, she sings the first verse. Yang’s never heard anything like it. For the first time she wishes for different ears -like hers- if only to hear her better.

Her wrist moves, playing softly as her voice strengthens.

“ _ And every demon wants his pound of flesh _

_ But I like to keep some things to myself _

_ I like to keep my issues strong _

_ It’s always darkest before the dawn” _

The once rowdy crowd is silenced, hypnotized by her. Eyes glued to her as hers remain on nimble fingers running along the guitar's neck with practiced ease. She doesn’t spare a glance to the patrons and hasn’t since she first took her seat, but the way she keeps returning to worry her bottom lip between piercing teeth relays her fear. 

_ “And I’ve been a fool and I’ve been blind _

_ I can never leave the past behind _

_ I can see no way, I can see no way _

_ I’m always dragging that horse around _

_ Our love is pastured, such a mournful sound _

_ Tonight I'm going to bury that horse in the ground" _

So enraptured Yang is, she doesn’t notice the whispers rise again. All her senses are focused on the beauty on stage. A brow furrows as she sings through the first chorus. Shoulders stiffen as a note is missed. Delicate eye’s slam shut and her voice quavers for the briefest of moments. 

She plays on.

Mutterings of ‘faunus, animal, savage’ finally reach her. Yang curses them all to the deepest pits of hell. This girl’s not a savage or an animal. She’s an angel.

“ _ And it’s hard to dance with a devil on your back _

_ So shake him off, oh whoa _

_ And given half the chance would I take any of it back _

_ It’s a final mess but it’s left me so empty _

_ It’s always darkest before the dawn.” _

Yang hears laughter off to her left and she’s sure it’s the same table the man hollered from earlier. Dying down to snickers, Yang tears her eyes from the stage with a pain almost physical. There’s a group of men, boys really, goading one of their own. Elbows jab at him teasingly as they whisper into his ears. Yang knows it’s coming, knows it before he sports a determined mask, before he lifts his mug to chug back the rest of the courage it contains. He stands.

“Look boys!” His booming voice carries, “Guess you can teach ‘em beasts a trick o’ two.” 

Yang turns to the stage, hoping -in vain she knows- that he’s remained unheard on stage. A human might have been blessed in ignorance, but not her. Not when she can hear and see so much more than they. Yang watches her flinch, sinking lower on her stool. Her eyes shoot to the side, seeking help they both know won’t come. 

The man continues, emboldened by his mate’s prodding. “They taught’er ta sing. Wonder if she can dance too.” Whistles rise up, taunting. “Give us a jig-” he hiccoughs through his laughter. 

She stops playing, staring at the crowd. Pleading with them. 

Yang turns to grab a server rushing passed. Glares daggers at her until eyes avert with a sad shake of her head. No one is going to help her. They’ll make her dance for their entertainment. 

But she’s proud, or scared, and doesn’t move from her stool. After an eternity she strikes the cords in the same tune. 

Yang prays it’s the end. Even as the same man steps out of the booth, she prays. She urges him to just leave it, to be headed home or even the restroom. His lumbering steps carry him in a wobbled zig-zag to the stage. Her fist throbs as it hits the table. She stands, moving before she processes what her next move will be. He’s intercepted not far from her abandoned table, the alcohol has made him bold, but also slow.

Yang anchors herself in his way. He tries to sidestep her. “I don’t need another drink, honey.” Her hand plants on his chest as he tries again to pass her.

“What you need is to go sit down.” Her voice is low, dangerous, but he misses the warning resting within her words.

“I’m just havin’ fun, she’ll be lucky ta dance with a real man.” He motions with one trunk of an arm to his goal. To her. “This’ll be a treat. After all ‘em savage brutes rutting up on her e’ery night she’ll enjoy-” 

Yang hears a crack and she’s not sure if it’s his nose or one of her knuckles. But she stands where he crumples, unconscious to the beer soaked floor. Adrenalin pumping, Yang spins looking for her next target. Instead she’s met with boisterous laughs. They hoot and holler. And a few close enough pat her shoulder. 

“Taken down by a girl,” they yell. His friends' angry looks are the only thing she contends with as they drag his limp body to the exit. 

Behind her the guitar picks up and the girl begins to sing again, continuing where she left off. Yang stalks to the bar to order another drink, needing to calm her racing heart. Fists clench with a need to punch something or someone else. Whoever served up the faunus buffet is first on her list. A beer is placed before her. She looks up and sees the bartender smiling gratefully at her. “On the house,” he says. His eyes flick to the stage. 

She forces a smile through still gritting teeth and turns, listening again to the girl’s angelic voice. It’s not her guitar she stares at as she sings this time. It’s Yang.

_ “And I’m damned if I do and I’m damned if I don’t _

_ So here’s to drinks in the dark at the end of my road _

_ And I’m ready to suffer and I’m ready to hope _

_ It’s a shot in the dark and right at my throat _

_ ‘Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me _

_ Looking for heaven, for the devil in me _

_ Well what the hell I’m going to let it happen to me _

_ Shake it out, shake it out _

_ Shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa _

_ Shake it out, shake it out _

_ Shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa _

_ And it’s hard to dance with a devil on your back _

_ So shake him off, ooh whoa _

When the song ends she’s called off stage. It’s the first thing Yang’s grateful for all night. She stays to finish her beer. It’s the reason she tells herself. It would be rude not to finish the offered beverage, but when a cold cloth is placed over the knuckles of her right hand and she looks up Yang knows; she’s waited for her.

“Thank you.” Her voice is soft, careful. Unable to make eye contact with her now that only a bar separates them instead of a crowd. Her eyes dart everywhere except in her direction. She avoids her corner of the bar at all costs. Yang’s just happy to watch her. They don’t speak, but Yang’s gaze follows as she completes her duties. Her beer is replaced when empty, her money refused again. The girl looks up from filling the ice bucket and smiles softly at her boss, witnessing the transaction, or lack thereof. All Yang wants is to be the recipient of that smile, just once. She could die happy.

Hours later as she’s wiping down the bar Yang reaches out to touch her wrist. Her hand is snatched to her body with practiced reflexes. It breaks Yang’s heart. She deserves more than this fear humans instilled in her. Their eyes meet and Yang feels herself smile, genuinely, for the first time all night. 

“When are you off?” Careful to keep her voice low. She doesn’t want to scare her. Yang hates that she’s already been responsible for that telltale constriction of her pupils. 

“Why?” Her voice is just as careful as Yang’s, skeptical of her reasons.

“Do you-” Yang lifts her hand to scratch her nose, flustered by the amber that’s studying her now. “If you’d allow, I’d like to walk you home.”

“I don’t  _ need  _ supervision.” She turns to stack the clean glasses another faunus has brought out in a grey tub.

“I know, but I’d like to.” She watches Yang stretch her right hand, watches the wince Yang can’t completely hold back. No one has ever studied her as hard as the girl across the bar is now. “Just in case.”

“I’m off in an hour.”

“I’ll wait.” Yang nods as if sealing the deal. The girl grabs the empty tub and makes to disappear into the back. “My name’s Yang.” She blurts before she’s out of sight. “Can I please have yours.”

Without turning she answers, “Blake.”


	2. suffocating in silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here is chapter 2. Hope you all enjoy! I think this is going to go from 3 part to 4 or 5 I think... we shall see. Anyway, hope y'all like it.

The place gets busy. Bodies pile up at the bar, servers form a conveyor belt of empty trays returning piled with new refreshments. Blake stays a half-hour late to help her boss. She doesn’t mention the time to Yang. Doesn’t explain her reasons for not approaching her after the hour she’s promised. She looks though. Every five minutes or so, she looks, making sure Yang is still sitting on the stool at the far end of the bar. Yang’s okay with it. She doesn’t need a reason; she has eyes. She can see how busy it is, and how the bartender tells Blake to leave, saying she’s done more than enough tonight. The stubborn way Blake shakes her head before restocking the beer fridge tells Yang more about her. It’s a game for her now. How much can she learn about this girl by observation alone? 

It’s clear Blake’s proud, determined. Proof is in the way she demands to stay and help, the way she performs each task, anticipating most before she’s asked. There’s a quiet respect for her boss, following instructions exactly, down to the minute details. Every single glass she stacks behind the bar show the logo facing out. Every cooler and beer fridge arranged the same. Her eyes scan the bottles he lifts, seeing which are pouring low; each replaced before he voices the need. She is meticulous. 

She’s all smiles and friendliness to the other faunus as they emerge from the door behind the bar. It’s painfully obvious none like crossing that barrier. They speak only to Blake, most don’t even look to the man running the bar. He in return, ignores them, deferring guidance of their tasks to Blake which they readily accept before scurrying to the safety of the store room and kitchen beyond the free swinging door. Blake is comfortable with her boss, in the familiar space behind the bar, but she fears the customers, not meeting their gaze when they speak to her. Eyes do find the servers that come to bring her orders as her boss handles the patrons at the bar; the ones she can’t stand to be near. But she’s reserved with the servers in a way she’s not with the faunus or bartender. 

Yang learns so much watching her, but she wants so desperately to learn more. She needs it just as she needs the air filling her lungs.

Only when orders finally slow and patrons start to clear is he able to convince Blake to leave for the night. Eyes dart to her corner of the bar as she asks if he’s sure. Bottles need to be rinsed and recycled, more glasses need replenishing behind the bar... which needs another cloth ran down it to rid it of the stickiness dried alcohol ponds left from over spilled drinks.

Yang can’t help but feel she’s stalling, looking for excuses to not approach her. She hopes it’s not because Blake fears her too. He presses, urging her to leave and finally she relents, disappearing into the back. The next five minutes pass, excruciating. Fear of Blake sneaking out a back way creeps into her mind, crawling through cracks in her usual confident demeanor. Cracks created by a mysterious girl she can’t help but be drawn to.

Eventually, thankfully, she returns, ducking gracefully under the wedge in the bar meant for lifting. She can’t be bothered with moving obstacles that can be circumvented. Her eyes meet Yang’s.  _ ‘Are you coming? _ ’ they ask. Yang’s no more in charge of her actions as she is the rotation of the planet. Slipping from the stool she’s not moved from in hours, she follows. Weaving around tables, through the door into the brisk night air of Mantle, down the street. She follows. The only sounds are their breathing and feet scraping the pavement -her feet, Blake’s don’t make a sound, she’s mindful of that too.

“I would’ve been fine walking on my own.” Her eyes remain trained ahead, but the ears atop her head swivel, directionless. What it must be like to know more of the world surrounding you by sounds rather than sight. 

“I know.” Yang chooses her words with deliberate care. “I worried there might be some retaliation for what I’d done.”

They walk a half-block in silence before she speaks. “What  _ you _ did,” she starts. Yang opens her mouth to stop the renewed appreciation she’s sure is coming but Blake’s raised palm stops her. “But  _ I _ would be the one paying that price. For something I had no say in, in any conceivable way besides the choice of keeping a job I need to survive.”

“It’s not fair.” Her toe kicks a pebble in her way, frustrated with the world. She doesn’t miss the way Blake flinches at the action.

“No it’s not.” She adds with a sigh, “but it’s the hand my kind’s been dealt.”

More silence. Yang’s terrified stare takes in each building they pass. Not for potential dangers, for the only thing she fears from them is the unknown; which one will end her time with Blake? She’s wasting her moments with silence.

“I don’t agree with them.” Breaking the quiet feels like taking a breath after staying underwater too long, satisfying and vital. Before she allows herself to sink below the surface of silence she continues, “The things they were saying in there. I don’t agree with a word of it. How they can see somebody and say such horrid things. As if you were an object and not somebody flesh and blood. Like them.” Blake’s feet move and Yang follows. This time one ear is pinned, listening to Yang’s words. “But you’re not like them. You’re different, so much…” Yang pauses. Blake’s fists clench, knuckles just as white as they’d been gripped to the guitar on stage. “more. Better than any one of them.”

They stop again. Her grip loosens but her eyes remain glued to the distance. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know enough about them, though.”

“You. Them. Do you see a difference?”

Pain sears through her chest, burning in a way that stops her lungs from expanding. “You don’t?” She’s drowning again.

“My life has been a series of humans versus faunus. Them versus us.” Blake turns on her heel, crossing the street without warning. “And each time, yours celebrate and mine crawl back into the shadows, the mines, alleys, caves, gutters. Out of sight where we belong.”

“You don’t.” Blake’s quick to turn on her with a disbelieving glare, challenging her to disagree with what history has proven time and time again. But she remembers herself and softens immediately. Ribcage expanding she returns to her passive demeanor. “Belong there, I mean,” Yang’s quick to correct. Blake’s not interested in her views, staying quiet as they continue down a path that’s more alley than street. Yang can’t blame her. What’s one human’s view against an entire species, against centuries of disparity. “You don’t see all humans the same.”

“I do.” Her tone is so sure Yang’s feet falter and an ear twitches as Yang’s boot scrapes sharp along the cobblestone.

“Your boss?” 

“That’s different.”

“How?” Her jaw clenches and shoulders straighten. It’s not a good sign. When Blake takes a step to the side, space between them growing Yang knows she’s gone too far. “Nevermind. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” 

Their exchange dies. Yang doesn’t trust herself to speak further and Blake seems unwilling to continue any form of communication with her. Both ears swivel; she’s not listening to her anymore.

A minute passes as an eternity before Blake steps into a darkened alcove. “Goodbye Yang.” One moment she’s beside her and the next she’s gone.

Yang doesn’t even have time to return the salutation.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

A week is all that’s able to keep her away. Weiss and Ruby plead with her not to return, but she’s never been one to adhere to what others suggest. A phantom’s been following her all week, to her every meeting and sits with her at every meal. Each faunus servant she passes is accompanied by Blake’s disapproval ringing sharp within her mind. What difference  _ was _ Yang to the likes of the Atlas elite, living amongst the injustice, even if she didn’t agree with it. Maybe Blake was right. Maybe all of them are the same. 

She watches a dozen people enter the bar, music growing loud with each outward swing of the door. If she’s not working tonight the trip will have been a waste, but Yang’s fears hang heavier on finding her there. Blake’s upset when they last parted still bothers her. What if she still was? What if she didn’t wish to see her? 

Taking a steadying breath she enters. The lackluster lighting inside is a stark contrast to the brilliant neon sign above the entrance. Tables are already half full, taken up by regulars. She’s pleased the delinquents from the past week aren’t among them. She steps around the bar to claim a table in the back corner, noticing Blake’s absence behind it. The same bartender as the previous week looks up from wiping down the polished wood that’s his work station. Eyes widen, acknowledging her with a polite nod. She returns it, sinking to take a seat at one of the smallest tables, her back against the wall.

A server hurries to take her order and she’s quick to ask for two instead of one. Nerves on high alert, their synapses fire erratically. Allowing a knee to bounce out of sight below the table she clasps her hands together tightly to at least hide their twitching. The showcases are better than last time and Yang forces her focus not to drift to the bar. The difficulty is substantial. 

After the second set she can no longer refrain. Eyes glance and immediately fall on the girl she’s come for. Her hair is down tonight, framing her delicate features and flowing like silk past her shoulders. She’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt again, this one navy. The neck is wider and it keeps falling off her right shoulder as she bends to restock the fridges. Yang thinks her annoyance is cute, she continues to yank the shoulder up, force increasing each time. Finally giving up after Yang counts to seventeen. She pauses, hand gripping the fabric before releasing it with an exaggerated exhale, leaving it to hang where it rests.

The focus with which she completes even the most menial of tasks is admirable. Yang knows lazier individuals that hold higher positions of honour. She’d replace any or all of them for one with Blake’s work ethic. 

As time ticks on Yang thinks making herself known a ghastly idea. She enjoys watching Blake in anonymity, but knows sooner or later she’ll be spotted. She can’t even make an escape as that requires passing the bar Blake hasn’t left all night. She focuses again on the stage as a man too well dressed plugs in a keyboard for his set. Yang listens through the first verse but isn’t impressed, attention drifts to the patrons instead. It’s less crowded tonight than she remembers it being last week. Would Blake have fared better with this crowd rather than the last? 

Yang knows it’s hopeless, but she desperately wants to hear Blake sing again. 

Occupied by a girl singing two tables over, Yang doesn’t look up as her empty beers are snatched from the table. The girl is better than the man on stage. Yang wishes her up there instead. The cold bottle placed against her arm surprises her. She hasn’t ordered another. Her wallet comes out and money removed, she holds it up to the girl, not wanting to explain she’d not asked for it.

“On the house.” She waves the bills away.

“Seriously, take the money.” Yang presses, not comfortable with the handout. Her actions last week were not in hopes of any kind of payment.

“I was told not to take payment.” 

“Tell the guy I don’t want any free drinks. I don’t part-”

“Guy?” The girl interrupts. “No this isn’t from Flynt. The faunus-”

“Blake?” She asks, half to make sure and half to correct the girl. 

“Yeah, I think that’s her name, cat ears?”

Yang nods, not trusting her voice. She wants so badly to tear this girl down. ‘The faunus, cat ears.’ She wants to scream. Letting it go, she makes her way to the bar, cold beer in hand. Blake doesn’t acknowledge her as she sits, taking the same stool as before. Men approach her and she shoots them down, most politely, one she’s forced to make a scene; them leaving, tail between their legs. An hour passes before Blake ventures to her side of the bar. It’s probably because Flynt, the bartender, hasn’t checked on her even though her empty bottle was pushed away ages ago.

“Do you want another?” She asks, gaze on an imaginary spot she swipes with a cloth. 

Resting her chin in her upturned palm, Yang watches her. She wonders how long she can look before Blake returns her gaze. Besides the long sleeves Blake seems to prefer, she wears the same shoes and black pants as before. Her tongue sneaks to wet dried lips. Fearing she will leave without an answer, Yang asks the first thing on her mind. “When are you off?”

“Not for awhile. Do you want another drink?” Her hand stills as her eyes shift to the stage.

“That doesn’t really answer my question.” Yang smiles, head tilting to put herself in Blake’s line of vision.

“Neither did you.” Her response is clipped, but she finally meets Yang’s eye.

“I’ll have another if you allow me to pay for it.”

“I won’t take your money.” Her lips purse and her eyes stare, determined. The look sends chills down Yang’s spinal cord.

“Why?”

“Look,” Her voice is low as she leans over the bar. “I think I may have given the wrong impression last week. I  _ was _ grateful for your help that night. Not many would have done the same. But I was rude before we parted ways and I want to apologize. So…” Reaching under the bar she brings a fresh beer to rest between them. Condensation already forming on the glass. “This is on me.” 

Blake leaves her then. Yang occupies herself with listening to the other showcases and when Blake’s near enough for her to hear without yelling she asks again when she’s off. 

Blake’s eyes shoot to the clock behind the bar, but Flynt overhears.

“Now,” he speaks up. “Get out of here.” His voice: soft and playful but fear and confusion overtake Blake. He throws a cloth at her. It lands half on her head, an ear twitches under its weight before she swipes it off. The trance she’s in breaks. “It’s slow. Go have fun.”

Tonight she doesn’t disappear into the back. She nods to Flynt and ducks under the bar, motioning for Yang to follow. Words aren’t exchanged but there’s an unspoken understanding Yang is walking her home again. It’s more than Yang hoped for. The only downfall, she can’t think of anything to say.

“Thanks for the drinks.” 

Shoulders lift as Blake wraps her arms around her middle. “You’re welcome. I wanted to repay you.”

Not wanting the conversation to turn negative Yang remembers a positive of that night instead. “You have a beautiful voice.” She tries to find the words to describe how Blake’s voice -that song- made her feel. Her singing’s the most beautiful sound she’s ever heard, it means something. Blake means something. Yang just wishes she could verbalize what that something is. 

“So do you.”

Her train of thought comes to an abrupt halt. “I-what?” There’s a pull to Blake’s lips as she keeps her eyes in the distance. “I meant your singing.”

“I know.” 

Eyes flick in Yang’s direction, the twitch of muscles at the corner of her mouth both tell Yang what she’s missed at first.

“You’re teasing me.” Blake hums, chin tucking to her chest. She stiffens with the initial sound of Yang’s laughter but settles quickly. They’ve stopped walking, Yang wiping at her eyes, and Blake watching her. “You’ve got attitude. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“In a good way?” Blake’s eyes narrow. “I don’t believe so.”

“Well you do.” And for clarification, “I like it.”

Yang waits for Blake to find her steps again, but she doesn’t. She stands there staring at Yang, intently, unsettling under the flickering dulled light of the streetlamp across the road. 

“Why?”

“I-” Yang looks away, again words fail her. How does one explain why they like something about someone. Yang likes to laugh, loves making people laugh. She appreciates a quick wit, a sense of humour. But even more she’s happy to find Blake keeps these traits. “Because it proves no matter how hard they’re trying, they haven’t broken you.” 

She captures Blake’s gaze; her eyes glow in the midnight shadows, brilliant stars housed on earth instead of heaven. She wishes to know what’s going on in Blake’s mind, but knows not how to ask. Finding her sight wandering, Yang searches the skies for the glimmer of those heavenly relations to irises still studying her. Atlas is all she finds. A giant mass blotting out half the sky, its bright illumination drowning any stars bold enough to show their light. Her eyes take in Atlas scornfully, a scar in the night sky. How any could see it as a shining Beacon of hope is beyond her. It’s only proved to snuff out the light left with the larger populace so far beneath it. 

Yang wonders if Blake’s ever seen the stars in all their glory. She knows so many in Mantle rarely experience anything outside its familiar dreary, carbon-copy roads. Has Blake ever left the walls entrapping them? Or is this all she’s ever known?

They continue, walking in silence the rest of the way. Yang would be upset, saddened at the loss of precious time, but Blake has stepped closer and she seems more relaxed. She’s deep in thought and Yang doesn’t want to interrupt. 

“Thanks,” Blake almost whispers as they step to her door. 

“Of course.” But she can’t wait another week to see her. “Can I walk you tomorrow?”

The question seems not to surprise Blake, but she thinks it over in anycase. “No,” she says after a time and Yang’s heart drops. “I don’t work tomorrow, but the next I do.”

“And you would like me to walk with you?” Needing clarification, she doesn’t want to impose if she’s unwanted.

Blake studies her, just as she did the day when she asked to first walk her home. It’s intense and highly unnerving. “I wouldn’t mind it.”

“Then I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.” Yang smiles. “Good night Blake.”

Blake returns her smile with a small one of her own. “Good night Yang.”


End file.
